


Pearls

by RememberingEmbers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Crime, Gun Violence, Incest, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex, kenny ackerman/armin arlert rape, mention of suicide, waiter eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7738732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RememberingEmbers/pseuds/RememberingEmbers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after committing a life-destroying crime against Eren Jaeger and his boyfriend, Levi runs into Eren at a local diner and falls deeply in love with him. Eren doesn't recognize Levi, but his uncle recognizes Eren, and Levi quickly learns that he will do anything to protect Eren--and himself--from Kenny Ackerman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first ereri fic, and I'm pretty nervous about posting it here. Please let me know if you think this is worth continuing, and don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions! Hope you are having a great day, wherever you are.

Levi's mask is a doll's face made of splintering porcelain, female, with blank eyes and a small, treacherous smile. He holds it in his lap as Uncle Kenny slots bullets into his gun, the cigarette between his teeth leaking smoke. The cabin of the car smells like a fucking forest fire, but Levi knows better than to cough or crack a window. He strokes the mask's high, rouged cheekbones, reminded of children.

"The dad's a doctor or some shit," Kenny is saying. "Oncologist, proctologist, whatever the fuck. The missus is dead, but he's got a kid—oh, wait'll you see that hot piece of ass. Sixteenish, green eyes, fat lips. God, I hope he's home. I'm gonna fuck him raw."

The Jaeger house is quiet in its cul-de-sac, no cars in the driveway. It's late afternoon. Levi prays that the family is out. They usually do more recon than this, but Kenny blew their last haul on—who the hell knows? Dogfights or prostitutes or skag, pick a fucking number. They've been eating out of dumpsters for the past week and a half. Two days ago, Levi sucked a guy off in a bowling alley bathroom for twenty-three bucks and a sleeve of Saltines. He shakes all the time now, and it's as much a product of self-loathing as it is hunger. And fear, of course. Always the fucking fear.

"Remember your STDs," Kenny reminds him, like he doesn't know the drill. "Scratch, TVs, drinks—a doctor's gotta have a wine cellar, you think? I'll check the freezers, but they probably pawned all the lady's jewelry by now."

"That's fucking cynical," says Levi.

"Dear me, I'm sorry. Wouldn't want to bring you down or nothing."

"I'm just saying—"

" _I'm_ just saying take everything you can carry. None of that 'I couldn't find anything' bullshit you tried to pull last time. Take some clothes, too. You look like a gutter whore." 

"I am a gutter whore."

"Yeah, but now you look like one. Take better care of that pretty body, baby."

Levi runs his tongue across his lower lip self-consciously and says nothing.

"Gimmie a kiss, boy. For good luck."

Swallowing hard, Levi leans over the center console to touch his lips to Uncle Kenny's. Kenny pursues him when he tries to pull back, catching the nape of his neck and jerking him back. His tongue is hot and greedy in Levi's mouth. That familiar taste, smoke and tar and stomach acid. Levi takes it without a change of expression, keeping his eyes open. Kenny strokes Levi's hair back behind his ear with calloused fingers, then jams them between Levi's closed legs. Pinches at his inner thighs until Levi gasps.

"Remember who you belong to," says Kenny, breath warm against his throat.

"Yeah," says Levi, yanking away to secure his mask over his face. "I remember."

Kenny pulls down his own mask. It's a crying baby's face, cracked. The eyes are deep-set, and stitches stretch between the plump, parted lips. "Let's do this," he says, voice muffled and gleeful.

There are no open windows on the ground floor. Kenny works the lock at the front door while Levi patrols out back. There's privacy window in a bathroom, high and narrow. He stands on a lawn chair to lift it open, removes his shoes, and slips in head first, using the sill as leverage as he quietly descends the tiled wall. He lands in the bathtub, cat-quiet. The drain is still gurgling softly—signs of a recent shower. Fuck. He replaces his sneakers quickly, sitting on the lidded toilet. If he hurries, he might be able to catch the homeowner before Kenny gets in. Levi hopes to god it's the father. Kenny will stick his dick in anything under twenty-five, and he's got a special place in his heart for kids.

Levi knows that intimately. Has known it since he was nine.

The granite countertops are messy. Water spots, a comb, a few scattered brown hairs, a new tube of toothpaste—two toothbrushes in the cup by the sink. Levi pauses. Two? There's no way the father and son share a bathroom, not in a four-bed-three-bath house. Could mean a lot of things. Could mean one of them just went to the dentist, or they brush their fucking dog's teeth, or the dad buys in bulk the way Levi's mom used to buy toilet paper and sanitary napkins. Always a surplus of toiletries; always that tall, well-stocked walk-in closet, still smelling of her cheap perfume and the discount warehouse.

A pang closes Levi's throat. He tries swallowing to clear it, but his eyes are already stinging. He extracts a single tissue from the box, dabs at his eyes through the mask's holes, and crumples the Kleenex into his jacket pocket. The cops don't have his DNA profile yet, but why risk it? Kenny would fucking kill him if he got caught. Levi draws his pistol, a polite Ruger Standard, double-checks it to make sure it is still unloaded—

 _Wham_. The front door bangs open. Kenny's in, and he keeps his own Beretta slotted with bullets.

"Yee-haw!" Kenny roars, and _fuck_ , Levi hears a small yelp of surprise from one of the bedrooms down the hall. He skids into the corridor just in time to see Kenny break down a door with a single well-placed kick, the treads of his boots serrated, like new teeth. When he sees Levi, he jerks his head toward the next room down. The door is not shut. Levi nudges it open with his foot, gun drawn—

It's the son. Gorgeously green-eyed, fifteen or sixteen, ass to fucking die for. Levi's stomach plummets even before he realizes that the kid is dragging an even smaller figure protectively behind his back, a boy with blue eyes and swollen lips—they were making out. They were having a shy, fumbling necking session, innocent and new, and Levi just fucked their worlds a thousand times over.

"Two for the price of one," says Kenny, joining Levi in the doorway. He reaches out, snags the brunet by his shirt, and throws him down against the hardwood of the hall. The boy lands hard on one arm, crying out in pain.

"Armin," he gasps, winded. "Armin, _run_ —"

But Kenny's got the blond already, hand fisted in his hair and the gun barrel digging at his soft, graceful throat. He kicks the Jaeger kid hard in the ribs, nudging him down the hallway. "Into the living room, nice and easy," he says, and Levi can hear the smile in his voice. "Or is it a foyer? You fancy enough to have a foyer? The room with all the nice gadgets. Move slow, shhh, shh—hey! Doll, look alive!"

He's talking to Levi, who startles. He still hasn't moved. He follows the three of them out into the sitting room; a wide, spacious stretch of beige carpeting and sleek, modern coffee tables loaded with vases and gleaming crystal lamps. It screams money. Kenny drags both boys past the threshold and heaves them toward the leather sectional sofa. They scurry against each other, groping for each other's hands. They know not to speak. Gotta give credit where credit is due.

Levi eyes them with trepidation. They're both stunning as fuck, but the short kid, Armin, is exactly Kenny's type. Small, blond, pretty. Kenny's eyes are hungry as he rakes them up and down the boy's body, lingering at his wide hips.

Armin clamps his legs together. He knows where Kenny's staring. He buries his face against the shelter of the Jaeger kid's throat, a frightened mewl escaping him.

"Aw, baby, it's okay," says Kenny, his voice dangerously quiet. "Gonna treat you real nice-like."

"Don't you touch him," Jaeger growls. "Don't you fucking touch him!"

"You gonna stop me?" Kenny taunts.

With a snarl, Jaeger heaves himself forward. It startles even Kenny, who staggers back a step before he manages to get a good grip on the boy's slim elbow, hauling his arm back at a perilous angle. Jaeger yelps in pain. He goes lax against Kenny, who kisses his neck twice, gently. Now that he's standing still, Levi sees his tight jaw, his handsome build, those unbelievable green eyes ablaze with fury. Levi feels a twinge of lust that infuriates him, disgusts him. The boy can't be more than fifteen years old.

"Calm down," Kenny soothes. "You'll get yours too, sweet thing, just be patient while I play with your girlfriend." He gestures Levi over. "Give me a hand here. Keep Jaeger busy."

There are implications in that, unmistakably sexual ones, but Kenny is speaking distractedly enough that Levi can pretend not to have heard them. He crosses the room with his gun drawn and presses it tentatively to Jaeger's throat just as Kenny reaches down and plucks Armin off the couch. Armin and Jaeger cry out. God, Armin's just a slip of a boy, still a child in a soft way that Jaeger somehow isn't. Kenny lifts his mask halfway and kisses him long and open-mouthed. It looks like he's fucking eating him.

"No, no, please," Jaeger sobs. "Please, leave him alone. Do whatever you want with me!"

"Oh, I will, don't you worry," says Kenny. He raises his eyebrows, lazily petting Armin's buttocks through his trousers. "I'm impressed. For how often you hear that line in movies, we don't get it much in real life. Turns out most people just wanna save their own asses. Can see why you'd want to protect this one though, goddamn."

He slaps Armin's rear, watches it jiggle. Jaeger jerks and mewls beneath the barrel of Levi's Ruger, so Levi presses harder, whitening the taut skin beneath the shelf of Jaeger's jaw.

Armin finally finds his high, pretty voice as Kenny begins kissing him again. "Please," he mumbles against Kenny's mouth. "Please. I can't."

"You can," Kenny encourages.

"N-no. No, I—I don't want to—I don't know how—"

"I'll teach you, baby."

He yanks Armin's shirt open. He lowers his mouth to one pink nipple, kissing and sucking. Jaeger lets out a ragged sound that's part scream and part sob, and Levi's grip on him falters just a little. He grabs his uncle's elbow with his free hand.

"Don't," Levi says. "Come on—"

Kenny strikes him across the face. The blow rams his mask against his cheek; Levi's vision goes white as he staggers against the couch, hand pressed to the injury. Is he bleeding? He might be fucking bleeding because one of the porcelain cracks caught him the wrong way. He touches the corner of his eye with the tips of his fingers. They come away red.

"Did you say something?" Kenny asks him.

Jaeger and Armin are watching him now, their eyes wide and wet and horrified. Really noticing him for the first time. Levi adjusts his mask back over his face. His voice sounds weird even to him.

"I said don't. He's just a kid. He's just—"

Kenny grabs Levi's nipple through his sweater and pinches hard. Levi bites back a cry, closing his eyes as the dull, sick pain courses through him. He curls in on himself, hurt, humiliated. 

"You don't tell me what to do, bitch," says Kenny, and now there's nothing playful in his voice. He shakes Armin for emphasis. "If I want to fuck his ass, I'll fuck his ass. If I want to fuck _your_ ass, I'll fuck you until you piss blood. I'll fuck him and I'll fuck you and you'll roll over and fucking _thank_ me for it. Do you understand that, you ungrateful cunt?"

"I understand," Levi manages.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand!" Levi says, hating the desperation in his voice, the open fear. The last time he got mouthy during a job, Kenny handcuffed him to his bed for half a week. Levi soiled himself twice. Had to sit in his own shit for days, the smell curling in his nose, and even that hadn't stopped Kenny from fucking him raw whenever moved to. Afterward, he'd bathed Levi nicely, cooked him a rare, delicious meal—and Levi _had_ thanked him for it. Had gotten down on his knees and licked Uncle Kenny's feet clean.

"Prove it to me," says Kenny, smiling eerily small, calm. He looks at Jaeger. "You're in for a treat, kid. My boy here sucks cock like a champ."

No. _No_. Levi would run if he weren't fucking frozen. His grip on Jaeger has slipped almost completely, but Kenny's compensating on Armin now, the barrel of his gun pressed between Armin's pink lips. Armin stares up at the ceiling with wet, dead eyes. Jaeger is shaking his head frantically, wordlessly. Not looking at anyone. He knows, knows without a doubt, how ruined his life is, and it's the understanding in Jaeger's expression that makes Levi want to throw up. This young man has been through shit; he has paid his suffering dues. And now he's Kenny Ackerman's hostage.

"You don't have to do this," Kenny tells Levi. He's still smiling. "I can kill them both. You know I have no qualms about fuckin' dead bodies."

"That won't be necessary," says Levi brokenly.

"Get to work, then."

Levi kneels in front of Jaeger and reaches for his fly. Jaeger kicks at him, shrieking, until Kenny jabs the gun so far down Armin's throat that he gags. Jaeger goes preternaturally still. Only his hands shake as he sits there, eyes damp and horrified.

Slowly, making a show of it, Kenny spreads Armin's thighs, spits into his own hand, and slides his fingers down into his underwear between the soft, round buttocks. Levi knows exactly when he penetrates him, because Armin shrieks, struggling to squirm away. Kenny yanks him back by his hair. His eager, mischievous deportment has returned. He rocks Armin up and down a little, cups his round ass.

"Can't wait to pop this cherry," he says. He takes out his engorged member, long and stiff, and rests it lightly between Armin's cheeks. He fucks lightly. "Ah, shit. Even your crack wants me."

"No," Armin sobs.

"You were made to get fucked, baby. You're so perfect."

"Please. Please."

Levi busies himself with his own task—and holds his breath. Even flaccid, Jaeger's cock is huge, pornographic; tastefully veined and capped by a gorgeous, flushed head. He glances up at Jaeger tentatively as he pries it free of his jeans, and is relieved to see that his eyes are shut, head canted away against his own rigid shoulder. Levi tilts his mask back just enough to free his mouth. He's gonna have to do this blind, but that's all right. Levi Ackerman can suck dick in his sleep. Has sucked dick in drugged sleep before, if Kenny's claims have any truth in them. He leans forward, nuzzling into Jaeger's soft, fragrant pubic hair. Jaeger just sobs softly. His thighs, muscular from high school sports, tighten minutely.

Kenny's got Armin's pants and boxers down around his knees. His hips jerk forward. Armin lets out a shrill cry that turns into wet, rhythmic sobbing as Kenny begins thrusting. "Good boy," Kenny murmurs, stroking Armin's hair back so he can lay soft kisses against the side of his throat. "All sweet and tight for me. Good, baby. Good."

"No," Jaeger pleads, crying openly. "No—Armin—"

"Jaeger, hold still," Levi says quietly.

"Fuck you! F-fuck you, you sick fucking bastard!" Jaeger screams.

"Quiet, please. He'll make it worse for both of us."

" _I don't care_!"

"Please," Levi whispers. "He'll take it out on me. He'll hurt your friend even more."

He's not vain enough to think that his own sob story had any effect on Jaeger—it’s the mention of Armin, infinitely more beautiful and innocent and undeserving than Levi himself—but Jaeger stills. Tears pour down his cheeks, and he collapses against the couch, sobbing.

"Fast," he begs. "Fast, and don't let me like it."

Levi takes Jaeger's cock into his throat, reveling at the hot, soft heft of it on his tongue. He goes down on him slowly, like a lover. His mouth makes moist, obscene noises. Jaeger grips his hair, but doesn't pull or push—just braces his hands there, still sobbing, eyes never leaving the gun now pressed to his boyfriend's temple. Levi is glad he can't see. He works Jaeger's dick gently, lovingly. He tastes sweet and musky. He's never sucked a cock this young. He feels warmth between his own legs and squeezes his thighs tight, refusing to touch himself.

And Jaeger—Jaeger's finally getting hard. Thank god, because Kenny's not going to let Levi quit until he comes, but Levi can _feel_ Jaeger's fury at his body's betrayal. He cries out, angry and desperate. His hips jerk against Levi's face. He lets go of Levi's hair, fisting his hands in the couch's expensive leather upholstery. 

Kenny's hips slap busily against Armin's ass as he fucks him. Armin is silent. Not even crying. Bad fucking sign. Levi lets his head loll a little so he can see the boy, and is horrified to see the blank, uncomprehending look in his eyes. He's panting lightly, mechanically, shirt still hanging open to reveal the single bead of sweat crawling down his sternum.

"Gonna come in you," says Kenny. "Gonna fill up your sweet little ass."

Armin doesn't respond. His hair swings in his face as Kenny plunges in and out.

The two things happen almost in tandem:

Kenny tenses and groans. And Levi—Levi closes his eyes, chokes back a sob, and swallows Jaeger's cock one final time.

Jaeger shrieks. Comes. His semen is hot and abundant in Levi's mouth, spilling down his chin. Levi swipes it off with his tongue, drinking it all down, knowing exactly how debauched he looks now with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. His eyes keep slipping shut. He's exhausted; the type of tired you feel in your bones. He wants a cigarette. Instead, he leans away and drags his sleeve across his face. Tears blur his vision. He hauls his mask back down just in time to hide the tremble of his mouth before he starts crying, silent and unshaking.

In the end, they take nothing but some silverware, a strand of beige pearls, Jaeger's will, and Armin's virginity. Kenny's so satisfied by the encounter that he even leaves their wallets and IDs, which he usually takes as trophies. Doesn't matter anyway, because the news article, while making no reference to the sexual assaults, use full names: Armin Arlert, fifteen years old. Eren Jaeger, sixteen. Kenny basks in the press coverage. Levi notices, though he tries to avoid the evening news, that there is no mention made of a second assailant. Probably the police keeping it quiet, trying to weed out informants. Good fucking luck. Kenny works alone, and Levi's mouth is stitched shut as securely as his uncle's mask.

*

 _Eren_ , Levi thinks at night, fingers tangled in Mrs. Jaeger's pearls—a gift from Kenny. Levi doesn't know if he's grateful or terrified to know the boy's identity. It doesn't change much, doesn't humanize him any more that Levi already had, but it feels right having that knowledge. Necessary. Knowing the name of the beautiful thing you destroyed.

*

Months pass. Levi does two more break-ins, both with no witnesses. Sells TVs, drugs, sex. He spreads his legs once for a man in a red truck, and when the man tries to strangle him, Levi has the freedom to kick the car door shut on every one of his grubby fingers. Levi can take care of himself, when it's not Kenny. Kenny makes him weak again, like a baby. Sucks the competency right out of him and makes him six again, terrified, small, filled with the wordless, encompassing fear that only children with living closet-monsters know.

On Thursday-midnights, Levi goes to the Sasha's Diner on Exposition Street, orders however much coffee and bland breakfast he can afford, and feeds dime after dime into the tabletop jukebox. The diner is all chrome and cherry-and-teal tile, clean, safe. He loops Incense and Peppermints to get Kenny's country shit out of his head.

"You look like you could use something sweet."

Something clicks on the table in front of Levi, startling him. He blinks at the new plate by his coffee—cherry pie a la mode. His stomach knots at the idea of eating anything richer than scrambled eggs and hash browns, but if there's any food item that can change his mind, it's Sasha's Diner's pie. He glances up questioningly at the waiter by his elbow—and freezes.

Green eyes. Dark hair, dark skin, bittersweet smile that clashes with the bright, busy fifties-cars-and-milkshakes print of his aqua uniform top. He reaches into his shirt pocket for a notepad, and it's then that Levi notices the new nametag pinned there, bearing a name he already knows.

Levi is going to be sick.

Eren Jaeger smiles at him, oblivious. "What can I get you, sir?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late, short chapter! Future installments will be longer. Thank you so, so much for the incredible comments! I will do my best to deserve your kindness!

Levi is good at not fainting. He's good at meeting Uncle Kenny's gaze as his fingers tighten around Levi's throat; is good at keeping his eyes open even when the world goes black, then white. Sometimes Kenny squeezes until Levi's skin makes terrible creaking noises. Sometimes he whispers to Levi to just let go, _let go, it'll feel so good_ , but Levi always stays upright until his uncle gets disgruntled and throws him back down onto the mattress. _Just wanna choke you out once, boy. You could end this if you weren’t so fucking proud._ Levi is good at wearing the bruises on his neck like a chain of bloodflowers, defiant and ornamental: above anything, he knows how to stare straight back.

But he comes to with his head cradled in the crook of Eren Jaeger's elbow.

"Hey," is all Eren has time to say before Levi thrashes away from him, rolling onto his stomach and scrambling to get his footing on the slick diner tile. He falls hard to one knee. The pain shudders up his thigh, and he hisses, falling back and scooting away on his ass as Eren draws closer to him with his hands raised in peace.

"Your face scared him, Jaeger," says one of his coworkers.

"Or maybe he was thinking about your mother's mustache," Eren snaps.

"At least I actually _have_ a—"

" _Jean_!" someone else gasps.

"—mustache. What?"

"You have two fucking lip hairs that your rub a razor on once every seventeen weeks," says Eren. He returns his attention to Levi, smiling gently. His tone changes completely. "How are you feeling, Levi?"

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Levi asks hoarsely. God, he's shaking so bad: Eren is even more beautiful than he was the last time Levi saw him, radiant and more-or-less healthy, leaning so close that Levi can smell his cologne. What kind of sixteen-year-old wears fucking cologne? It's a strange, low scent, one that smells rustic and woodsy and textured, like a house in the countryside. If it were a sound, it'd be a deep note on a violin. Levi feels himself losing consciousness again and slips slowly backwards, jolting with chills when Eren grabs for him and eases him back carefully against the booth.

"I went through your jacket pocket for a medical ID or something," says Eren. "Found your DL. Are you all right? Can I get you anything, glass of water or a burger or—our special today is a pork chop with apple chutney and your choice of two sides. We've got fruit, fries, seasonal vegetab—"

"Yeah, what he clearly needs is a fucking pork chop," says the handsome, pouty-mouthed boy next to him. Jean. He peers at Levi. "Want us to call an ambulance for you?"

" _No_!" Fuck. His driver's license sports a fake last name, thankfully, but if that pseudonym goes anywhere on an official document, 'Levi Magnolia-Church' is officially on the country's radar. He once had to lose a police car in traffic to avoid a brake light ticket. He tries to sit up again, and Eren helps him, his hands careful on his forearms. "No," he says again, more calmly. "Thanks. I just—I haven't eaten in a while, and—"

"Bertolt, we need a pork chop!" Eren shouts to the backline, directly in Levi's ear.

This is turning into a fucking nightmare. Levi wants to run, but he knows his legs aren't going to hold him yet. He sits there uselessly on the floor as the diner's staff bustles around him, reluctantly dispersing to attend to their other tables as Eren waves them off. Sasha's Diner is a popular spot owing to its cheap late-night menu and its famously young, attractive waitstaff. It's like the Abercrombie & Fitch of greasy spoons. By face, Levi recognizes the waiter named Jean, Sasha Jr., and the tall, meek fry cook with the olive-colored eyes. Eren must be a new hire. Just working off the strain of home invasion and sexual assault, you know.

Levi's eyes sting. He rubs them, then startles badly as Eren reaches out to dab at his face with the bottom hem of his apron.

"Sorry," says Eren quickly. "I—I don't know why I did that. Can I get you a napkin or something?"

Levi nods tightly. He can't imagine how bad he looks. He's still got bruises on his throat from his last customer's assault, and he's pale and shaky, struggling to hold back vomit. Eren returns with a fistful of napkins and presses them into Levi's hand. Levi wipes his forehead. They soak through immediately. "Can you help me into the booth?" he asks, voice raspy.

"Of course," says Eren. He crouches and slings one of Levi's arms over his shoulders, but instead of helping him stand from there, he hooks his other elbow beneath Levi's knees and lifts him right up off the tile. Levi yelps, scrabbling for a handhold. One of his hands ends up fisted in Eren's hair. Eren, belatedly realizing his mistake, gently settles Levi in the booth and waits until he lets go before pulling away. He meets Levi's eyes. "I'm sorry I'm being all awkward and shit," he mumbles. "I'm just—not good in emergencies."

Instead of focusing on the implications of that, his history of emergencies, Levi snorts. "I got a little dizzy. That's hardly an emergency."

"With respect, you don't know how awful you look."

"Don't try to sweet-talk me," says Levi.

"Have some pie," says Eren in a burst of inspiration, grabbing the plate and sliding it over toward him. "It's free. Everything tastes better free!" 

"Eren, I—" he freezes, afraid that he slipped up, before he remembers that Eren is wearing a nametag. Cowed by the close call, he shuts his mouth, throat tightening.

"Here. Let me help," says Eren, taking a seat beside him. He cuts off a little triangle of pie and holds it in front of Levi's face, like a mother would feed a child.

Levi's teeth clench. He should run now. He should just grab his stuff and fucking—

"Here comes the airplane," Eren says suddenly, navigating the fork around in wild circles. "Neee-oowwww—whoops—"

The bite falls to the Formica tabletop with an understated _plop_. Levi doesn't laugh—Levi never really laughs—but he feels the corners of his mouth tug up in a small grin, and the sight of it seems to have an awing effect on Eren, who stares at Levi with his lips slightly parted, eyes shining.

"What?" asks Levi quickly, smothering his expression. "I'm not cleaning that shit up for you."

"No, I just—you look so beauti—so _different_ when you smile."

Levi tries to pretend that he hadn't heard the slip-up, but his cheeks feel hot. He's not beautiful, and he knows it: his eyes are too haunted and his hipbones are too prominent from skipped meals; he has a whore's mouth, says Kenny, and his ass, fat and round for his stature, is lewd without being lovely. Levi pulls a handful of napkins from the holder and swipes the piece of pie directly into Eren's lap. Eren yelps.

"What the hell," he says, his voice full of laughter as he wipes off his apron.

"Give me that fork," says Levi.

He takes a tiny bite of pie, his stomach curling uneasily around its sweetness. It's been a long time since he's had a dessert like this, and the taste of it is rich and sinful, luxurious in a way he doesn't deserve. Delicious. Levi scoops off another forkful, this one a little bit larger, and slips it into his mouth. He closes his eyes to chew. When he opens them, Eren is watching him with a large smile that changes a little as Levi licks his lips. His ears redden, and he looks away fast. His dark lashes brush his cheeks as he pretends to be focusing on the menu board.

His gaze, Levi realizes suddenly, is _interested_. He didn't recognize that at first because there's absolutely nothing predatory about it, nothing that promises bruises and blood verbal abuse. Levi never gets looked at anymore in this soft, innocent way. This—this is dangerous.

"Thank you," he says, standing. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a tattered ten and a few ones, dropping them onto the tabletop and scooting past Eren toward the door. Eren pursues him, scooping the money into his own hand.

"Wait, it's free," says Eren.

"Tip, then," says Levi.

"You don't have to tip me!"

"Too late."

Levi walks quickly, too aware of his thin, secondhand jeans, the threadbare hoodie that hangs almost to his knees as he fumbles his old coat on. The bell at the door tinkles as he leaves, then once more as Eren catches it on the rebound and follows him out onto the sidewalk. Levi tries to ignore him, but Eren stays with him even after he's passed the safety of the diner's flashing neons. This is no place for someone as pretty as Eren. Levi finally stops and turns under a flickering streetlamp, trying to keep Eren in the light.

"What do you want from me?" Levi asks, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. It burns like hell to offer: "I'll suck your cock if you want," he says softly. "I'll let you fuck me, if you have a condom."

Eren's expression is stunned, then furious. Levi thinks he's angry at the insult to his character; who the fuck wouldn't be, but what comes out of Eren's mouth instead is, "Don't say that! Don't—don't offer yourself so freely! You're worth more than that, you—you're a human being, and someone is _hurting_ you, and—"

"Hold the fuck up," says Levi, his voice taking on an edge of steel. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Your neck is bruised to shit," says Eren, finally dropping the friendly-server act. His eyes blaze with fury. He's more than beautiful now; he's otherworldly. "Whatever you're doing for the sake of survival isn't enough. I don't want to—to _save_ you, Levi. Only you can do that. I just want to make sure you don't end up dead in a fucking gutter tonight."

Levi swallows hard. He touches his throat unconsciously, then pulls his hand away, shaking. He steps closer and meets Eren's eyes; he has to look up to do it. "Why do you care?" he asks quietly.

Eren closes his eyes, one hand to his forehead. "How am I supposed to answer that?" he demands, angry. "Because you intrigue me. Because you're—you're beautiful. Because I've felt responsible since I caught you, and because I can tell you're going to change me, and you have no idea what it is to be treated with tenderness. At least not how I can show you. But maybe I'm just being selfish, because I've seen too many people destroyed in the last year and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the people around me dying to this fucking cage of a city. I'm tired of letting it win."

The candidness of the reply stuns Levi. It's too much to take in at once. He stares up Eren knowing his eyes are wide and wanting. Who _is_ this incredible young man? How can someone so passionate and open and righteous even exist in a place where the streets wear you down, fuck you, leave you cold? His breath fogs the chilly air as he stands there, terrified by what he feels. Eren's gaze softens as they study each other. His bare hands steal out to grip Levi's fingerless-gloved ones, fingers rich-boy soft and full of promise.

"Let me take you to dinner," says Eren. "Mitras. Seven o' clock. Saturday."

Levi shakes his head. As it is, Kenny can never know they so much as spoke. He would kill Eren. He would tear off all of his fingernails and then rape Levi over his body. Levi steps back out of the light, caught by the instinct to flee. He's just opening his mouth to refuse when the footsteps approach from behind him, and something soft and sweet-smelling bumps his shoulder.

He turns.

Armin Arlert stands there in an oversized white sweater, arms wrapped around himself for warmth. He's wearing a bright red scarf that covers his mouth, and his round cheeks are pink from the cold. His blue eyes—so sharp the first time Levi had seen them—are dull and apathetic, with none of their past acuity. He doesn't strain to see Levi in the dark, doesn't even acknowledge him. Still gorgeous, despite everything. A stray snowflake catches in his eyelash, and he blinks it off, lashes sweeping down with effortless demureness.

"A-Armin," Eren stutters, then catches himself, clears his throat. "Levi, this is my best friend, Armin. Armin, this is Levi; he—"

Levi shoves past Armin and runs.

His feet pound down the pavement. He doesn’t stop until he's three, four blocks away, panting painfully, the night air stinging in his lungs. He slows at the corner and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His stamina gets a little worse every day, his strength waning from lack of food and sleep and shelter.

_My best friend, Armin_. Eren and Armin are no longer a couple. No fucking surprise, given what had happened to them, but god, it fucking hurts—Levi did that himself, ripped them apart through trauma and left them literally bleeding on the ground. Armin's warm, sunny beauty is gone. He's been stripped of his radiance, and what's left is bitter and exquisite and transient, like an ice sculpture. Levi wonders if he was ever as incandescent as Armin was, or if he was born dirty, like Kenny insists he was.

A dark car pulls up to the curb, stops. One of the tinted windows rolls down, and one of his regulars—Reiss—is there holding out three crisp, folded hundred dollar bills.

After a long moment, still panting, Levi reaches for them. Reiss pulls them back. A second later, the door opens, and Levi stares into the darkness of the leather backseat before he slides in.

Reiss is on him in an instant: the car's still idling as Reiss fucks Levi's mouth with his slick, filthy tongue, working Levi's pants down around his thighs. He slaps Levi's ass hard, twice. A second later, his thick finger enters Levi dry, and Levi moans into Reiss' mouth before spreading his legs and hooking one knee expertly over his shoulder. Reiss rips into him, parting him without grace. Levi feels blood beading between his buttocks, hot and sticky. He leans forward and begins riding the man's hand in deep, frantic strokes, barely registering the pain as Reiss seizes him viciously by the throat and shoves him down against the seat.

_Keep your eyes open_ , Levi tells himself, staring back into Reiss' cruel, heavy-lidded eyes. _You're good at not fainting. Don't blink, Levi, don't you fucking fall._

Ignoring, of course, that he had already fallen for Eren Jaeger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the unbelievably generous feedback, and I'm sorry again for the huge delay! Warnings this chapter for mentions of past childhood sexual abuse. Things are heating up.

"Ahh, fuck yeah. Take it. Take my cock, you little blond cunt."

Levi opens his eyes. His dick, just beginning to awaken, slackens in his fisted hand, and he tries to twist around to see Uncle Kenny, who seizes him by the nape of his neck and shoves him back down against the table. Levi's bony hips jab against its edge with every thrust. He makes a low noise of pain, fingernails digging into the finish.

"Shut the fuck up, boy, you're ruining the fantasy," Kenny snaps.

"Good," Levi pants, glaring. "If you haven't noticed, I'm not Armin Arlert."

"I know you're not. You're looser 'n a rotting corpse's shitter."

"You speak from experience, I presu— _aah_!" Levi cries out as Kenny slams into him deep and dry, hauling his pelvis back so he's flush against Levi's ass. Kenny's tempo increases in punishment, so Levi forces himself to stay still until it slows back down into something slower and more thorough, almost loving. Kenny kisses his neck from behind. Levi squeezes his eyes shut again, gritting his teeth against the sickness and humiliation rising in his throat.

"Armin," Kenny breaths. "My sweet, sweet angel."

"Don't come inside," Levi pleads.

Kenny comes with a ragged, happy sigh, giving Levi's ass a final slap. He pulls out wetly. Semen slides down Levi's thighs, and he reaches for his underwear and jeans without a change of expression; has them up and fastened around his waist before Kenny has even tucked himself back in. It takes his uncle an eternity to let go of the table and straighten. Levi slips past him as soon as he's got a path, snagging his hoodie from the couch and tugging it on over his head as he breaks for the front door. He's almost there when Kenny chuckles behind him, deep and low.

"What?" Levi snaps.

"Jizz stains."

Levi closes the door to the apartment, removes his hoodie, and reties the arms around his hips. He's wearing a ratty old t-shirt that barely covers his midriff, but it'll have to do.

Kenny's obsession with Armin is worsening. He hoards the newspaper and online articles now, keeps them in a folder on his computer desk. One of the stories listed Eren and Armin as Shiganshina High students, and Kenny found a wealth of pictures on the school's website: Armin accepting a science fair trophy. Armin poised onstage with a violin, Armin sipping from a teacup, Armin laughing in the background of a picture of Eren and Jean arm-wrestling. It's sickeningly easy. Anyone could find him, Levi thinks again, quickening his pace as the evening autumnal air bites into his exposed skin. Any sick fucker could stalk one of the beautiful high school students that populate their fucked-up city, their voices clear and innocent as they head home from their classes.

Some Shiganshina extracurricular is letting out now, in fact. Maybe yearbook club or something. Levi ducks between tenements to avoid their routes, finds himself boarding a bus driven by a dead-eyed woman with one hand around a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Safe, he lets out a slow breath and turns to peer out the frosty window. He doesn't recognize any of the kids walking back towards their houses. God, they look so young. They look younger and younger every year.

*

He gets off near the city limits to go to Good Foods Grocery on Sixth and Wadsworth. He's got a crumpled twenty in his back pocket—enough for something disgusting and high-calorie to tide him over for a few days. The supermarket is painfully bright. He blinks against its fluorescents as he picks up a basket and heads toward the frozen foods.

It's such a cold aisle, fuck. He feels his nipples straining against the thin cotton of his shirt, raising it away from his flat stomach. The gaze touches him like a tap on the shoulder: there's a bearded guy eyeing him from a few freezers down, expression lazily aroused, left hand adorned with a simple gold wedding band that sparkles with authenticity. Always the married ones, Levi thinks with disgust. He doesn't feel like pulling any tricks tonight. He opens a freezer, grabs a box of shitty knockoff Hot Pockets, and lets it bang shut again, strolling past the man without making eye contact.

The man grabs his arm.

"The fuck," Levi snaps, trying to wrench away, but the bastard's grip is secure. He pulls Levi closer, gazing transparently at his chest. Levi barely resists the urge to shrink in on himself, ignoring the sick, overexposed waves of shame that flood him as he tries to extricate himself from the man's grasp.

"How much?" asks the man huskily.

Levi scowls. He tests the man's hold, subtly this time, searching for weak points. "More than you've got there, believe me," he says, nodding flatly to his burgeoning erection.

"I'll feed you," the man offers, which is weirdly wholesome until he adds, "Got something hot and meaty just waiting for a mouth like yours."

Levi rolls his eyes. "Not hungry."

"Your presence here says differently. How long has it been since you've had a hot meal? You're so skinny, baby. You're wasting away. Give me two hours of your time, and I'll make you anything you want."

And fuck if Levi's stomach doesn't growl audibly. Humiliated, he manages to rip free, but finds himself standing there instead of walking away. He's fucking hungry. There's no way around it. The last warm thing he ate was a grilled cheese sandwich at some crackhead's house after he'd blown him, and the man who's on him now is too clearly a steak-and-herb-butter kind of guy, a man who _cooks_ , who has a sleek refrigerator packed full of meat and produce. When they threaten you with homelessness in those anti-drug classes, they don't tell you about the hunger. They don't tell you what you'll do for a fucking hamburger when it's been three days since your last breakfast. Levi moistens his lips, considering.

As he shifts, a new thread of Kenny's spunk slips down his thigh.

"No," says Levi stonily, resolutely. "Leave me alone."

This time, the man grabs his elbow when he turns, fingers digging into the soft joint. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you for soliciting a police officer," he says loudly. He takes one lapel and folds it back to reveal his badge, gleaming dangerously in the supermarket's stark light. Levi's stomach plummets. _Fuck_.

"I didn't—" he begins, honeying his tone, but it's pointless: people are watching now, and who the fuck are they gonna believe; a well-dressed man with a wedding ring or Levi with his unwashed hair and desperate eyes and come leaking down his legs?

"Come with me," the man orders.

"You're hurting me," says Levi, playing into his small stature, shrinking down even further.

When the man's grip loosens, Levi bolts.

"Hey! Stop him!" the cop roars after him, but Levi is already darting through the crowd, basket abandoned in the aisle. He reaches the doors and heaves them back as he clears them, breaking for the patch of light at the east end of the parking lot that demarks the end of Ehrmich and the beginning of Trost. Trost's not a great town, lower-middle class with just a sparkle of money at its edges, but better to be arrested in a public space where at least the kids have got phones with cameras. He's been brutalized by cops before. One forced a finger inside him when he frisked him, even, and Levi has never forgotten that; has sworn never again to trust a man just because he wears blue.

He plunges into the threshold of the streetlights as the policeman's footsteps pound down the sidewalk behind him, parting a couple with their hands linked, knocking aside a man who shouts after him with disgust. He swerves to miss a mother with a stroller. She shrieks, snatching her baby into her arms and crying for help. The cop stops to comfort her, but only for a moment, and Levi takes that split-second to round the corner, eyes searching frantically for asylum.

Fuck, fuck. He should've fucking known better than to come here. There's no venue where he won't look out of place: there's a jewelry shop to his left, a bakery catty-corner, a French bistro just beyond that with plate-glass windows and a line out the door. Mitras, or something like that. Something about that is just tugging at his memory when he spots—the _fuck_ , it can't be—

It is. Eren Jaeger, sitting at a table for two in the center of the room, a bouquet of white roses in his arms. Levi stares, mouth open as he pants for breath. What could he possibly be—?

It hits him full in the face like flashbulbs: _Mitras. Seven o' clock. Saturday_. Levi glances at the clock in the town square. It's seven-sixteen, but how many hot dates could the kid have on one weekend?

 _Fucking fifty-thousand_ , Levi thinks, examining the smooth, tailor-cut lines of Eren's suit as he nervously fiddles with his tie. He has a fiercely determined expression; shows no signs of giving up as he accepts a refill of water from the waitress with a wide, calm smile. He takes one of the roses out and carefully rubs its length, checking it for thorns. Finding none, he settles it back into the arrangement, resuming his perusal of the restaurant as he waits for someone to occupy the empty chair in front of him.

There's a clamor of noise behind Levi, and the crowd is parting. Levi's got no choice. Sucking in a deep, cold breath, he crosses the street and pushes through the dark, heavy doors of Mitras.

The instant he steps inside, a hostess accosts him.

"I'm sorry, sir, we have a strict black-tie policy," she says, sounding startled by Levi's getup. If her nipples were as prominent as Levi's are now, he'd be pretty surprised, too. He hesitates toward his hoodie, wondering if it'd class him up any, before giving up. He's got come running down his legs and his shirt says _Simon Says Go Fuck Yourself_. There's no way he's pulling this one off.

"Right, sorry," he begins—and then Eren's bright voice fills the foyer.

"Wait, Historia! He's with me," he says, waving frantically as he weaves his way through the tables.

The hostess, Historia, looks at him with an utterly unsurprised expression. "He would be, wouldn't he," she grumbles, eying Levi. She reaches back behind her podium and takes out a little box of black satin clip on ties, throwing one at Levi, who fumbles it. Eren plucks it out of the air with all the confidence of an all-star athlete. He smells fucking gorgeous as he leans toward Levi, his eyes huge and green as he gingerly takes Levi's collar between two fingers.

"Pardon me," he says. He fastens the tie there, adjusts it tenderly. Levi stares down at it, unable to stop himself from stroking its soft, silky surface.

"You're holding up my line," says Historia, without unkindness.

Eren offers Levi an elbow. Numb, Levi accepts it, letting Eren lead him gracefully to the center table as the police officer sprints past the windows behind him.

Once there, Eren fucking pulls out his chair for him. Levi almost misses it in his confusion, but Eren catches him, laughing as he scoots Levi in toward the table. He almost sits down on the bouquet, and Levi almost smiles—there's the Eren Levi knows, anxious and young, like a boy playing grown-ups—before Eren presents him with the flowers. Their fragrance is sweet, overwhelming. Levi just holds the bouquet dumbly as Eren grins shyly at him, barely visible over the horizon of petals. There've got to be at least two dozen of them.

"I got a little carried away," says Eren, scratching behind one ear. Then, in a rush, he confesses, "I didn't think you were going to show!"

"Neither did I," says Levi honestly. He doesn't know what to do with the flowers, so he sets them in his lap, right on top of his disgusting hoodie. God, he's so out of place here. The other patrons are glaring, but Eren's clearly got some sway here, because a tall waitress is breaking toward them with an unaffected smirk and a basket of steaming bread.

"Welcome to Mitras," she says. "First time here?"

Levi glares at her.

"Yeah, figured. Happy to serve and all that." She plunks the bread down between them. "Any drinks to get you started?"

"Ymir, I'm seventeen," Eren reminds her.

"I know that, Eren. No wine for you, then." She eyes Levi, a sparkle of interest betraying her flat expression. "Anything for you?"

"Bigass glass of the house wine," says Levi.

Ymir gives him a closer look then, examining first his shirt, then the ridiculous clip on tie, then the shitty Converse that Levi, suddenly self-conscious of, tries to hide beneath the hems of his jeans. "He's a'ight," Ymir tells Eren, then walks away without taking their orders. Levi watches her stroll back into the kitchen, her gait sexy and masculine as the silver doors swing shut behind her.

"I ordered a Meal for Two special thing they do here," says Eren, stuttering a little. "It's, like, bread, then something French, then cheesecake or something? Do you have any food allergies?"

"No," Levi answers, still too lost to respond cleverly.

"Good," says Eren. He tucks his hands under his chin, rethinks, and folds them in his lap instead. His smile is dazzling. "Hi," he says, his voice soft and nervous.

"Hi," Levi whispers.

The next ten minutes are filled with the most awkward bread-eating of Levi's life. Eren digs in first, seemingly as a defense mechanism against the silence, so of course it's only polite of Levi to respond in kind. The bread is fucking delicious. Levi could cry from it. They sit there and nibble, Levi staring hard at the tablecloth between sips of wine, Eren's eyes fixed with fascination on Levi's face. Levi notices that his gaze only slips down toward his chest to make sure the tie there is still in place. Eventually Eren reaches for it and gives it a small tweak.

"Was crooked," he says.

"Oh," says Levi blandly.

He finally looks directly at Eren. Eren's cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are still overbright with excitement, goddamn. He's like a fucking puppy. Levi glances toward the windows and sees that things out there are steady and uneventful, and starts to stand to leave.

"Well—" he begins, just as Eren starts with, "Have you ever—"

They pause, uncertain. "You first," Levi says.

"No, no. You."

"Eren, go."

Eren pauses, flushed for some unfathomable reason. "I like the way you say my name," he says, fast and low, then clears his throat and reddens even more. "I was saying, have you ever been on a date more awkward than this?"

"This is a date?" Levi asks, just to watch Eren sweat it out.

"W-well—yeah! Yeah, it’s a date. Is that—okay? Like, we could just be friends if—do you just want to keep this—"

"Eren," says Levi, taking pity on him. "It's a date."

The slow, stupid smile that spreads across Eren's face is so delightful that Levi has to sit down again because his knees are weakening. He stares at the kid, wishing he knew how to smile back. Eren sips at his water and stares down at the centerpiece, which is a stout candle, the waxy edges curved up around the flame like a transparent seashell. He pokes at it practicedly. The fire curls around his fingers lightly, making Levi jerk in his seat.

"Don't do that," Levi says.

Eren takes his hand away. "Sorry. That bother you?"

"It certainly doesn't set me at ease. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with fire, kid?"

"A lot of people have told me a lot of things," says Eren, uncharacteristically cryptic. He glances around the restaurant, his smile growing melancholy. "It's quieter here than when I was last here. My mom was the pianist. That's how I got to know Historia and her father."

The memory of that darkens Levi's mood like a falling curtain. He knows that Mrs. Jaeger is dead. He's got a strand of her pearls in his bedroom back at Kenny's apartment, suggestively pink-beige between his pale fingertips. "I'm not going to ask what happened to her," he says, leaning back in his chair. "In fact, I don't want to know anything about you tonight, because I don't know if I want to tell you anything about me. Quid pro no fucking thanks. How's that sound for a first date?"

Eren pauses for a moment, then nods. "Fine," he says.

Levi's eyebrows knit. "That was supposed to scare you away."

"It didn't," says Eren. He hesitates, like he's about to say something else, then shakes his head and squares his shoulders. He grins again, goofily. "Is standardized testing effective?" he asks.

"Uhhh." Levi can infer from this that Eren just had some sort of exam today. October ACTs or something. He wonders how good he is at school—Eren studying with his hair falling into his eyes; Eren falling asleep with his head in a textbook, fuck—but he's not going to cave so quickly and ask him. "Standardized tests are bullshit," Levi answers slowly, careful not to qualify any of his statements with 'I.' "The only number that should dictate a kid's future is their felony arrest count."

A flirty note enters Eren's voice. "And how many felonies did you have by the time you were seventeen?"

"Nope," says Levi simply.

"Oh, right," says Eren. "Nothing about you. Got it." He thinks for a long moment, then snaps his fingers. "What's the most disgusting-looking food that people will pay for?"

They're staring each other down challengingly now. They both have to sit back as Ymir comes by with their entrees; a sort of pink, grainy meat speckled with minced peas or onions or shit. There's even a cloudy egg yolk on it, lying there like an eye with caracts. Levi raises his brows with the obvious answer— _this_ —and Eren erupts in a sudden burst of laughter that startles the table next to them.

"What is this shit?" Levi asks, when people have stopped staring.

"I dunno," says Eren. "Steak tartare, whatever that is."

"Oh, that's like—" Levi grimaces as he remembers. Ages ago, when his mom was still alive, they'd eaten at a Parisian café. He remembers her insistence on his trying some, how he'd cried so hard it'd fallen out of his mouth. Despite himself, he smiles a bit. How happy she was in her hometown. She'd bounce him in her lap, singing _un petit chien_ in her sweet, high voice, and they'd fall asleep in the apartment with their hands linked and the sound of France moving slow below them. "You don't wanna know," Levi tells Eren. He takes a small bite, lets it melt in his mouth as the memories of his mother wash over him in sad, heavy waves.

"It's good," Eren says a moment later.

"It is."

Levi sits quietly for a while, just thinking. He watches Eren eat—god, the guy eats like the world's most stereotypical teenager, really shoveling it—and wonders if Eren feels the same way about his mother that Levi feels about his own, so lovingly it hurts. If he sometimes wishes he never knew her, just so he could never have lost her. He stares at his empty fork and the soft membrane of the egg yolk, somehow hesitant to puncture it.

"Tell me the most fucked up thing you've heard that doesn't involve you," says Levi. His voice suddenly feels very loud, very calm in the large room.

Eren blinks at him. "For real?"

"Yeah. Hit me."

Eren lowers his own fork, gaze dropping to his plate. He's silent for so long that Levi doesn't think he's going to answer, and if the glimmer of possible tears in eyes is any indication, he's got a lot of fucked-upness to sort through in that seventeen-year-old mind of his. But Levi knew that going into this. Compared to Eren's own traumas, there's probably nothing in his life that can make him cringe.

But Eren finally looks up at him, squarely meeting his eyes. "It involves my brother, but not me," he says.

"I'll allow it," says Levi.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. When he starts speaking, his voice is preternaturally even. "My older brother used to coach Little League baseball. A few years back, his girlfriend found pictures under his bed. Turns out he'd been forcing two of the kids on the team, Bertolt Hoover and Reiner Braun, to kiss each other and touch each other and stuff since they were like twelve. The two of them have been together for at least that long. As soon as they graduated, they got married."

Wow. That _is_ messed up. Levi wonders about abuse sometimes, wonders why it seems to haunt some families like a fucking vulture, wonders why it's so cyclical and insidious to some people when it never even grazes others. He takes another bite of his meal, shrugging one shoulder. "At least they got a happy ending," he says.

Eren stares at him funny. "What do you mean?"

"The kids. They got married and shit. Mazel tov."

"That's not happy, that's _fucked_ ," says Eren. "They were being forced together since before they started puberty. There's no way that they really love each other; they just don't know how to separate themselves from their abuse!"

"I mean, they got married," says Levi, knowing that he's repeating himself, but too confused to offer any new insights.

"So?" Eren demands.

"So—they're into each other. Maybe your brother helped them find that out. It's not like twelve is young to start having sex these days."

One of Eren's hands covers his mouth briefly. He looks like he's going to be sick. Levi feels every muscle in his body tighten, waiting for Eren to strike him or to yell or to laugh at him, even, but Eren only lets his fist drop back to the table. After a long moment, his hand inches toward Levi's. Their fingertips touch. The contact is hot, electric. "God, Levi," says Eren, his tone unreadable. "What the fuck _happened_ to you?"

Levi jerks his hand away. The chair screeches against the floor as he stands. "Date over," he announces.

"You know, every time you do this, you just make me more scared for you," says Eren, standing as well.

"Every time I do what?"

"Run from me!"

"I'm not," says Levi. "I'm not fucking running." But is there another term for what he's doing now, how he's trying to bolt before Eren can close in? Fleeing, maybe. The self-loathing sets into Levi like a cloak, lightened only by the more immediate crisis of their drawing attention from around the room. Everyone is staring at them now. Levi drops his hands, trying to look casual, but Eren is on a roll.

"Why won't you let me help you?" Eren says, and god, every inch of him is advertising, from the large, sweeping movements of his hands to the way he sounds choked with actual tears. "It doesn't make you any weaker to let someone else in! It doesn't change you to let a person know you, or to ask for help."

"If I were asking for help, it wouldn't be from you," Levi snaps. "Who are you, anyway? A fucking child."

"A child is a grown-up by age twelve, remember?" Eren demands.

Levi doesn't think about it: he simply reaches down, seizes his glass of wine, and tosses it in Eren's face. It catches him with his mouth open and everything. While he's still sputtering, Levi rips off the clip-on tie and throws it at him, walking straight past Historia and Ymir and all of the aghast Mitras patrons on his way out the door.

This was a fucking mistake. How idiotic was he to think that a date with a fucking _kid_ was a good idea? He should’ve just let himself get arrested. Levi wraps his arms protectively around himself as he breaks for the nearest bus stop. It's even colder now than he was before, the wind biting, and the shiver in his jaw might be more than weather as he feels the first sob jerk out of him.

Twelve was nothing to him. By twelve, Kenny had already been fucking him for three years. By twelve, his mom was gone and he was flunking out of school and he was learning to give handjobs in parking lots; he was plenty old and he didn't even have anyone to love him, not like Bertolt and What-His-Name, being lovingly shown how to kiss by Eren's perverted ass brother. Maybe Eren's twelve was sunshine and Boy Scouts, but the rest of the world doesn't operate that way: not everyone knows how to smile again. Not everyone gets up again; not everyone finds something bigger and more hopeful to fall back against.

A tear spills down his cheek. He swipes it away viciously, and is still scowling when Eren grabs his arm, rips him around, and crushes his mouth against his.

He tastes like house wine. Levi growls, trying to shove him away, and when that fails, he kisses back. Hungrily, desperately. He arches onto his tiptoes and tangles his hands in Eren's hair, moans when Eren's hands find the small of his back, gentlemanly halting above his waist. They kiss for a long, fierce interlude, rubbing their lips raw against each other, biting and sucking. Levi grabs Eren's face and parts his teeth so Eren's hot, frantic tongue can find his. When they finally pull back, they're both gasping for breath, and Eren's arms are full of flowers.

"You forgot your bouquet," says Eren breathlessly.

Levi hurls himself at Eren again, crushing the blooms between them. _Never leave me_ , he thinks, letting Eren pull his coat around him, covering his shaking shoulders. Their mouths meet again, and this time, Eren tastes like freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention of past Erwin/Levi, in some nebulous respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I am SO sorry for the huge delay. I got stuck, but I think I found my footing with this fic again, and although this chapter is pretty circular, things will start moving forward by the next part. Thank you so much for your patience and your support! I hope you enjoy, and are having an excellent week!

"That's him there in the hoodie," says Levi, and doesn't need to specify _which_ hoodie, because Eren Jaeger is wearing the most hideous pink-and-black-floral-with-skinny-jeans ensemble Levi has ever seen. Erwin leans across him from the driver's seat, raising his aviators.

"He looks very trendy."

"Erwin Smith, you wouldn't know trendy if it punched you in the asshole," says Levi, but he has to admit that Eren's getup does seem to be reasonably par for the course for Shiganshina High's casual Friday: the kids these days are wearing tight pants and snapbacks, Converse, t-shirts with saccharine motifs and tall fuck-me boots. It'd be charming if it weren't so fucking hipster. Levi wets his lips and leans back in his seat to admire the way Eren's biceps flex as he hoists his backpack up over one shoulder. Fuck, he looks edible. Hoodie and all.

"How old is he?" asks Erwin.

His voice isn't accusatory, but it piques Levi's nerves anyway. "Like you're so upstanding yourself. The first time you tried to hook up with me, I was fifteen."

"You looked older," says Erwin mildly. They've been through this before. "And if Eren is seventeen or so, he looks younger."

Levi relents. "Yeah. He's seventeen."

"And you are definitely involved."

"Yeah," says Levi softly.

They've seen each other twice since dinner, both times at night and on Levi's terms. The first one was a movie in Trost. The second was another meal, takeout from Thai Titan in Eren's battered old Buick, and though they'd barely spoken, their hunger for one another was palpable. They haven't touched since that evening outside of Mitras. They're terrified even as they are irrevocably entangled in each other, and slowing down feels like the only way they can continue their relationship without letting it devour them. Levi closes his eyes, swamped by a pang of helpless longing and affection. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Eren's chatting on the sidewalk with Jean, the pretty boy from the diner, and a young man with freckles and a wide, luminous smile. Erwin's right. The three of them look achingly young. Levi slouches down a little more in his seat, making absolutely sure that he isn't visible in the front seat of Erwin's out-of-place Lexus.

"Why don't you want him to see you?" asks Erwin.

"It's—extremely complicated."

"How so?"

Levi sneaks another glance—and ducks back down. Right on cue, Armin Arlert is emerging from the school's heavy double doors, clad in an oversized gray button-up and escorted by a beautiful Asian girl in pigtails and black lipstick. His pants are several sizes too big. The bottom hems are dragged ragged on the pavement. Eren greets him by slinging an arm around his neck and softly laying a kiss in his messy blond hair. God, they look like lovers. They look beautiful in every way that Levi and Eren can’t be.

"He's already seeing someone?" asks Erwin.

"They're not together. Not anymore, at least."

Erwin licks his lips. It's subtle, but there: a glimmer of interest, not active or crude or predatory, but nothing Armin Arlert needs in his life right now, either. Levi slaps Erwin hard on the stomach and is rewarded by the roadblock of his hard-ass abs. Levi draws back his stinging hand, hissing.

"What was that for?" Erwin demands.

"Don't perv on the blond kid," says Levi.

"I wasn't."

"You were, but you're not gonna want to after I tell you this."

Levi struggles for words. How can he explain the sweetness that used to be in Armin's eyes; the intelligence and dry humor and interest? Even from across the street, Armin's movements look languid and vague, his gaze absent as Eren and the girl discuss something in quick, conferring tones. That's no longer a boy who can play a violin onstage or win a science fair or laugh with his eyes. He's broken, maybe medicated out of his mind. Maybe both. Probably both.

"A few months back," says Levi at last, fighting to keep his voice from shaking, "Uncle Kenny and I did the Jaeger house."

Erwin is silent for a long moment. "Robbed them, you mean."

"Yeah."

"Levi, you swore you would stop doing break-ins. You promised you'd—"

"That's not the bad part."

Erwin quiets again. His lips are pressed into a tight line, warring against the anticipation and fear dawning in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks, taking Levi's hands into his.

Levi allows it. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back the sting of tears behind his lids. "We caught them. Eren and Armin. We caught them together. I wanted to leave, but Kenny, he—he wanted Armin."

From the twitch in Erwin's fingers, Levi expects to be struck, and flinches. But no blow lands. It's not like Erwin has ever hit him, what the fuck, or even come close, but it's hard to remember after Kenny that not everyone speaks with their fists. Instead, Erwin's grip tightens. "You were wearing your masks, I presume. So—Eren. What did he do to Eren? And what did he do to you?"

It's so hard to say. Especially now, with the clean and new way that Levi loves him. Their dirty past is Levi's secret. If Eren knew who Levi was, he'd kill him. "He made me suck him off," says Levi, voice choked.

"Oh, Levi," says Erwin, quiet and miserable.

"Yeah. So you see the problem now."

"I should think so."

They sit in silence for a long time. Levi begins nibbling one cuticle and stops, remembering how Kenny likes his hands, neat and clean—then jams his finger back between his teeth. Fuck what Kenny wants. He's not Eren. If Eren asked him to fly to the fucking moon, he would find a way to grow wings, but his body is no longer promised to his uncle: he wants Eren badly, wants him on his lips, between his legs. And it doesn't even matter if that ends up happening or not. Whatever the circumstances, he belongs to him now, and while he'd never claim any ownership over Eren, he aches with hope that he's holds similarly monogamous philosophies. That's something he'll have to ask him about, if he ever manages to talk to him without his throat closing up in guilt and yearning.

"I think he walks home alone," says Levi. "That's where I'd like to catch him today. Can you drop me off a block or so over?"

"Certainly," says Erwin. He starts the car, settling his hand against the specialized steering wheel that allows him to drive with his single arm. His sunglasses flash as he checks the rearview mirror. Levi feels a pang of gratitude.

"You understand that this'll officially make you complicit in my affair with an underage boy that I once blew at gunpoint?" says Levi.

Erwin's lips thin. "Please don't remind me of the moral liberties I'm willing to take for you. It gets very depressing very fast."

It's because Erwin still loves him, Levi thinks, in the same removed way that he still loves Erwin. Their physical relationship was illicit and abbreviated, a single session of almost-sex that Erwin put a premature end to, but Levi wonders if they might've had something in another life—one even more dangerous, where every moment mattered. As it is, Levi has too much time now: time to think, time to make mistakes. Time to catalog his regrets, and to realize that he'd do anything to avoid them. Regret is the worst. Anger burns, but regret _festers_ , and Levi feels like enough of him already needs to be scraped free of rot.

It's not Eren's job to do that, but he's giving Levi a reason to want to do it himself.

Before he and Erwin part ways, Levi leans in to give Erwin's smooth cheek a long, platonic kiss. "Thank you," he says seriously, cupping his face so he can look directly into his eyes.

"You're welcome," says Erwin, sighing. "Call me later, and don't forget your satchel."

"Thanks." Levi swings his old messenger bag over his shoulder, its strap crowded with buttons and lapel pins. Speaking of trendy. He steps onto the pavement and waves as Erwin pulls away from the curb, just narrowly putting his hand down in time for Eren to round the corner at the end of the street.

"Levi!" Eren gasps. He actually runs to him, making Levi's heart leap and spark, and scoops him into his arms to swing him around in a wild circle.

"I'll hurl," Levi warns him.

"Sorry! Sorry." Eren sets him down, grinning from ear to ear. God, he's beautiful: up close, Levi can see the light beauty mark under his right eye, the smoothness of his jawline. He hesitates, then raises one of Levi's hands to kiss. "Is that okay?" he asks.

"It's—it's fine."

Eren presses his lips to his knuckles, mouthing gently. His eyes close. When he opens them again, there's a thinly veiled lust in them, a carnal reaction that he crushes underneath a loud, wholesome laugh. "You just missed all my friends," he says. "What are you doing here, anyway? I didn't expect to see you until tonight."

"I couldn't wait," Levi confesses. 

"Mmm, I didn't know how I was gonna last, either."

Levi glances around. "We shouldn't be out in public together," he says. He's less worried about statutory rape charges than he is of Kenny getting wind of it, but Eren doesn't need to know that.

"Ah, right! I know where we can go."

Eren takes his wrist and begins tugging him along the sidewalk, They're further north into the heart of Ehrmich when Levi realizes where they're going: it's a wide culvert behind a family-owned pizzeria that Levi used to frequent for Dollar-Slice Saturdays. He's sucked a dick or ten there. The place doesn't bring back great memories, but maybe if he rewrites some of his history there with Eren—

As soon as they're safely under the corrugated steel lip of the tunnel, Eren seizes his face and begins to kiss him hungrily.

The contact, after so many days of tentative touches and shyly brushing hands, is electric. Levi's bag hits the ground with a thud. He throws his arms around Eren's neck and kisses back with bruising force, pressing one knee to the hardness already forming in Eren's jeans. Eren moans. He practically throws Levi against the culvert wall, fingers tangling in his hair, his tongue hot in Levi's mouth, wet. "You're so gorgeous," he pants between kisses. "God, Levi, you're so perfect—I missed you; I thought about you all day, all fucking day—"

"Yeah," Levi gasps. "Yeah."

Eren presses his palms to Levi's cheeks as they kiss, dragging him onto his tiptoes. Levi slips his hands into the pockets of Eren's ridiculous hoodie. He doesn't know what ignites these sudden fits of passion between them, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with not touching for days at a time; they've got to start regulating this shit or they're both going to end up imploding. Levi tongues Eren's lips further apart, tracing the smooth cleanness of his teeth. He tastes fresh, sweet. Young. And while that makes Levi's heart twinge with guilt, it also excites him, being _wanted_ by someone so new and so desirable, someone who could have anyone they wanted. Someone who'd once had a creature as pure and beautiful as Armin Arlert.

The thought sobers him like a slap to the face. He breaks away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, suddenly unable to look Eren in the eyes.

"I'm so sorry," says Eren, breath coming in fast, high bursts. "I—I shouldn't have—"

"No, it wasn't you. Just remembered something."

"Anything I can help with?"

He purposely didn't ask him what it was, knowing the question would be too invasive. Levi kisses him again, softly. "No."

They lean back, trying to catch their breath. Levi swallows twice to clear his mouth of Eren, one arm still flung over his shoulder for balance. He palms Eren's cock through his pants, reveling in his familiar hugeness, its warmth. God, he wants it inside him, but how fucking complicated would that be? His sexual history. Eren's innocence, the abuse Levi forced upon him. No, sex is not something he can think of yet. Not with the lies weighing so heavily between them.

"Do you want me to get you off?" Levi asks anyway. Fair is fair.

"No," says Eren. "Let me just—can I hold you?"

Levi hesitates. This is something that frightens him even more than intercourse: tenderness. "Okay," he whispers, and he's just moving in when they hear the voice behind them:

"Damn. You already got a guy?"

Eren and Levi turn. Levi's stomach immediately bottoms out: it's one of the men he'd fucked for something like forty bucks a month or so ago, not even one of the rich Suits, but a filthy woodsman type with an unkempt beard and dirt-encrusted fingernails. Levi'd been desperate that day, he remembers. He hadn't eaten in days, and he'd willingly and unthinkingly gone bareback with the bastard, almost unable to muster up the energy to slide back and forth on his cock.

"Well, I got next dibs," says the man carelessly, flicking a pair of twenties toward Levi. "No rush, I got time."

Eren steps forward before Levi can catch his sleeve. His face is thunderous. "How dare you?" he demands. "That's my fucking boyfriend you're talking to!"

Boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. Levi stares at him with wide eyes, heart thudding in his chest.

The man snickers. "Oh yeah? The birdie with the broken wings finally settling down? Gonna miss me that sweet ass."

Levi colors hotly. Eren would have to be pretty fucking oblivious to not have his suspicions by now, but to be outright told that Levi is a whore—that he's disgusting, worn down and used up by hundreds of men—

"Eren," he begins, humiliated, desperate to explain, but Eren is already responding, his tone furious and nonjudgmental:

"Fuck you, nothing about him is broken! And yeah, you're gonna miss his ass, because it was never yours to begin with."

"Hey," says the man, raising his hands. "I didn't mean to step on no toes."

"Then take your money and fuck off," Eren snarls. "And don't you or anyone else ever speak to him that way again. Spread the word!"

"Christ," the man mutters. He stoops to scoop up the twenties, and Eren's fists shake as he draws within punching range, but he holds steady as the man wanders away. When he's finally disappearing past the knoll, Eren finally turns back to Levi, who's trembling too. He stares at his hands, confused. He's had worse run-ins with fucking paperclips; how the hell is he so rattled now? Has he really become this weak? Levi leans against the wall, respiration shallow and quivery as the adrenaline saps him. When Eren reaches for him, to comfort or to hit him—Levi doesn't fucking know—he ducks away.

Eren steps back. "So you were a prostitute," he says. His tone is unreadable.

"'Were,'" Levi scoffs, not looking at him. God, his knees are wobbling. "Fuck that, Eren. I _am_ a prostitute."

"No, you're not," says Eren.

"Eren. Believe me, I would fucking know."

"You're not, Levi. You're with me now."

"It's not that fucking simple!"

And it isn't. Levi doesn't want to keep spreading his ass cheeks for money, but what if he needs to eat tomorrow or the day after? What if he needs to shower? He hasn't been back to Kenny's since that evening, and there's no way he's going to turn tail and return to fulfill all of his uncle's sick-ass Armin fantasies. _Once a whore, always a whore_ , his mother used to say, in her most self-deprecating moments, and it hadn't applied to Levi then, but it always stung like hell. Still does. Levi closes his eyes against the abrupt burn of tears and blinks them away viciously, hands on his hips. Fuck if Eren's going to see him cry again. That should never have happened in the first place.

Eren stands close, not reaching for him, but not moving away, either. He's shaky too. His gaze is down, and his long, dark lashes sweep his flushed cheeks as he gathers himself.

"Levi," he says at last, "I don't care what you've done, or what you do. We're together now. Aren't we?"

Levi could deny it. He could deny it and end it here, save them both the pain.

His throat sticks shut. He tries to swallow. Fails.

"We're together," Eren affirms into the silence. "And that means that nothing you can do will ever make me leave you."

"You're such a _kid_ ," Levi says, trying to make it hurt. "You're such a fucking baby; you can't promise that you'll—"

"I'm old enough to keep a promise," Eren cuts him off, calm, unaffected. "I've never been too young to keep my word."

He has no idea. Levi could shatter him with one fragment of the truth. "Fuck," Levi whimpers, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He doesn't even recognize his own voice, high and fragile. "Why did you have to be so incredible?"

Eren resets one sneakered foot between Levi's. He's not hard anymore, but he urges their pelvises together anyway, hooking his fingers in Levi's belt loops as he brushes his lips against Levi's forehead. "I'm not the incredible one," he says. "God, Levi. What you've gone through. What's been done to you."

"Nothing I didn't do to myself," Levi says, bitter as nightshade.

"You can't really believe that."

 _I do_ , Levi wants to say—but he remembers where it started. He remembers washing his mother's hair after her sessions. He remembers sorting out the loose change, four quarters for a hamburger at Lucy's, remembers his birthday, and the first time Kenny fingered him as he pretended to sleep. Weren't they all innocent once? Him, Eren, Armin Arlert? Uncle Kenny himself?

Levi closes his eyes again. Eren kisses him softly, his hairline, his temples, the crests of his cheekbones, like he's something beautiful.

"Where do we go from here?" Levi asks, unable to speak above a whisper.

Eren nuzzles him, leaning against the wall with one elbow, his other arm folded around Levi's waist. "I want to take you out on a dinner date," he says. "A real one, that doesn't take place in my car or end with you running away from me. Then I want to introduce you to my friends. There's this thing we do—ha, I think you'll like it. I'd like to share it with you. Then I want to watch movies with you at my house, and make out with you, and invite you to one of my cello recitals—"

"You play cello?"

"Yeah, and viola, a little."

There's so much Levi doesn't know about Eren, and he wants to know _everything_. But—"I can't promise you that any of that is going to happen," he says. "And the 'thing' you do with your friends sounds cryptic as fuck."

"Oh my god, it's—well, you'll see," says Eren, laughing.

"Will I?"

"You will. I'm going to show you." Simple, easy.

He can't hang out with Eren's friends. That's out of the question. If he has to sit next to Armin Arlert and make merry, he's going to be fucking sick. And he can't go to a recital; there might be footage, Kenny might find out. And he can't guarantee a date without running away. When shit gets real, he bails: it's why he's still alive. Levi makes a low, miserable noise, pushing Eren away to show him his empty hands. "Look at this," he says. "Look. I have nothing to offer you, Eren. Please don't waste this on me."

Eren takes his hands, presses them to his own face. His eyes close as he runs his tongue slowly between Levi's fingers, laying kisses on the thin, tender skin. "It's not a waste if it's you," he says. 

And Levi caves. Caves _hard_. For just this moment, let it not matter that he was never as soft and beautiful as Armin was; let it not matter that he's spent the better part of sixteen years on his knees, mouth open. Let him have this idea of Eren, of this future with him, of cello recitals and bad movies and hanging out with his friends, laughing like the teenager he never really was. Levi pulls his hands back to knot them in the front of Eren's shirt, driving him all the way back to the other side of the culvert, kissing him as hard as he can. When he pulls away, Eren's fingers are tracing the bottom hem of his shirt, and they're both panting.

"Let's start with the making out," Levi breathes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Here's a really fucking late update. Hope it doesn't disappoint, and that everyone is having a safe and happy New Year! I'm so sorry for missing review replies for the last chapter; I feel like it would seem insincere of me to respond to them so belatedly, but I appreciate them tremendously and will try to do better in the future.

"Why are we here?" asks Levi. "Is this where you're going to murder me and bury my body?"

"Yeah, right under the well-lit city limits sign," Eren says, laughing.

"Acid is cleaner."

"I like my bathtub too much."

"Ha," says Levi, and buries his face in Eren's shoulder so he can smile. He's not going to go into the science of hydrofluoric acids eating through metal. Eren's getting more and more used to his morbid sense of humor, though occasionally Levi will still hit on something that quiets him, or causes a sad, disturbed expression to cross his face. Levi takes inventory of those moments so he won't repeat them. Eren is young, and, despite everything, innocent. Levi's not going to be the one who takes that away from him. Not again. 

Tonight, for example: he's wearing a blue and white checkered shirt, a tie with one of those wall-mounted singing fish printed on it, and green corduroy trousers with high-top Converse. He looks simultaneously hyperaware of and oblivious to his disastrous appearance. And he's carrying a grocery sack stacked with pies. Levi keeps eyeing them suspiciously as Eren takes his hand and drags him down the deserted road, his strides long and eager.

"Slow down a little," Levi says. He has to double-time Eren's steps to keep up.

"Sorry. I'm just super excited."

"For what?"

"You'll see.”

Levi nods toward the pies. "Just so you know, I don't do foodplay."

"Aw, and I wanted our first time to be special!"

"Well—" Levi begins, before the sentence really sinks in, and he finds himself flushing. They haven't talked about sex yet, and Levi really had no plans to, despite the constant, aching lust he feels for Eren. Has the kid even had consensual sex before? It's an ugly, loaded thought, and Levi tries to shake it, quickening his pace until Eren's actually falling behind this time.

"Hey. Wait up," says Eren.

Levi stops immediately, and Eren runs right into him with a soft _oof_. After a hesitant moment, his arms curl around Levi's shoulders from behind, and he leans in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says. "If you never want to have sex, that's perfectly fine. That's not why I love you."

 _Love_. It makes Levi's throat close up. He feels it too, but he's not ready to vocalize it; not ready to hear it with his filthy history and cheap clothing and the memory of Kenny's hands still fresh on his hips and neck. He stands there for a long time in the shelter of Eren's arms before he turns and presses himself against his chest. It's a cold night, and as Eren mouths at his hair, Levi realizes he's shivering. He strokes Eren's stupid fucking tie, tracing the green-gold threads in it that match the kid's eyes in the dark, and tilts his head up for a kiss—

"Oi, Jaeg—whoa! We interrupting something?"

Levi turns fast—and feels his stomach plummet. It's—everyone. It's fucking all of Eren's friends, from pretty Jean to the lanky fry cook to the Asian girl and—yes, there's Armin Arlert, wrapped up in a pink comforter with cat face print and yawning as he gets a piggyback from some linebacker in a varsity jacket. They all hesitate, Eren uncertain, the others with raised eyebrows and expectant smiles. Nausea roils in Levi's gut. He grips Eren's shirt behind his back, pleading silently to leave, and Eren catches on and begins some desultory gestures toward his car.

"Hi, guys. Uh, we're just leaving; don't let us bother y—"

"Nope," says the linebacker. "Not gonna be that easy for you and your friend, at least until you introduce us." With a broad, handsome smile, he reaches for Levi's hand. "I'm Reiner Braun, and this is my husband, Bertolt."

Levi starts. It's the boys from Eren's story; the one about his older brother the Little League coach. He identifies the husband as the soft-eyed fry cook at Sasha's. He and Reiner have their pinkies linked, and though Bertolt's shoulders seem heavy with a natural kind of melancholy, his face radiates happiness as he gives Levi's hand a timid shake of his own. Levi feels weirdly vindicated. _See, Jaeger, they're happy. Something good came of your sick ass brother._ Ignoring, maybe, that that's not quite how things work. That it's not quite that easy.

But standing there to receive their handshakes opens the floodgates to all of Eren's friends rushing forward to formally introduce themselves: Jean Kirschtein, freckled Marco Bodt, Annie, Sasha Jr., Connie, Ymir, a glorious girl named Historia who could be Armin's sister. And Armin himself, of course. He crooks his fingers in distant greeting without letting go of Reiner's shoulders. Levi thanks god that they didn't have to physically touch; he might've puked. Only the Asian girl hangs back. Her sharp eyes wave down Levi like a security wand.

"You look familiar to me," she says.

"I look like a lot of people," says Levi.

"He's a regular at the diner," says Sasha. "Hash browns and two eggs, scrambled."

"Or, more recently, cherry pie," Jean begins, but the others shush him gently, mercifully avoiding the whole Levi-fainting-out-of-a-booth-last-month narrative. Levi feels a rush of gratitude. He lets go of Eren to make his way back to the car, but the girl steps in front of him again.

"In what capacity do you know my brother?" she demands.

"He's my boyfriend," says Eren, at the same time Levi lies, "We're acquaintances." They glance at each other, confused, and Levi says, "Maybe friends" as Eren corrects himself with, "Maybe that's presumptuous." Their friends glance back and forth between them, amused or uncertain or both. The girl's expression doesn't soften.

"Why did we have to catch you two out here at ten at night to find this out?"

At least she's addressing Eren now instead of Levi, who shrinks back, lowering his head. He hates that he has to do this, has to hide, but this is a fucking mess and the cleaner he gets out of it, the better. He needs to break things off with Eren, Levi thinks wildly. Disappear from his life, never meet with him again. It's bad enough that they know him at the diner; if Kenny hears that they’re together—

"We're trying to keep our relationship secret, Mikasa," says Eren steadily. "Levi's reasons are his own."

"And what are yours?" Mikasa snaps.

A soft, white hand descends on her shoulder. Armin Arlert is reaching down from Reiner's back to placate her, not smiling, but his eyes are gentle and wistful and he doesn't glance up at Levi as he speaks. "It's hard to be alone sometimes," he says. He sounds more lucid than he looked at school or at the diner. Eloquent, even. "It gets to you, the silence. And it's hard to admit that it gets to you. It's okay to want private relief from that."

Mikasa stares up at him with hopeless affection. "Armin, it's not _fair_."

"It is," Armin assures her. "Everyone has a right to be happy. Even in confidence."

Fuck, can this boy get any more angelic? A few months ago, someone stranger raped him in front of his boyfriend, and now he's here blessing his ex's relationship with some fucking gutter slut on the side of a dark road. Levi tries to catch his gaze, just to see what's in it, but Armin seems exhausted by his efforts. He hugs Reiner's neck and sags a little, eyes drooping shut. The pink comforter starts to slip off his shoulders; Mikasa hastens to catch it and secure it again. After a long moment, she offers her hand to Levi.

"Sorry for the interrogation; Eren is just very precious to us," she says. "I'm Mikasa."

"Levi," says Levi.

She holds on a beat longer than necessary; a peace offering. Then she reaches back and, with a straight-face, produces two plastic bags heaped with store-bought pies.

"Okay, what the fuck," Levi begins, baffled, and the others start laughing.

"He's never played the pie game," Eren informs them.

"I don't think I want to," says Levi. He starts toward the car again, and Eren goes with him willingly, chuckling, but Jean and Connie block his path.

"Hold up. Don't you even want to hear the rules?" asks Connie.

"Not really."

"It's simple," Jean says, as if he hadn't spoken. "We each get assigned a pie, and we write our names on the bottoms of the pans with Sharpies so we can tell them apart. We used to do, like, Bert gets blueberry, Armin gets apple, but we started running out of alliterations, so now it's just whatever. Anyway, you put your pie in the road, then run and hide behind the city limits sign and wait for cars to start coming as they leave the last movie showings in Dauper. And if your pie gets run over—" he pauses for effect, "—you have to eat what remains of it."

"Wh-what," says Levi. He's starting to laugh now. He can't help it. "That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard."

"Do not speak ill of the pie game," warns Ymir, arm draped over Historia's shoulders.

"It's unspeakably disgusting."

"Gotta make our own fun here in Hicksville."

"I fucking guess," says Levi. He squints at Historia, then Mikasa, trying to imagine such refined young women eating tire-decimated pies. "You all seriously play this."

"Pretty often, yeah," says Historia. "Except for Sasha. She's not allowed to play anymore because she's not afraid to eat them, which isn't very fun."

"Now I just finish what they won't," says Sasha, beaming. "Waste not, want not."

Eren nudges Levi with his shoulder, and when Levi turns around, he sees that Eren has a wicked grin on his face. He lifts his own bag of pies. "Wanna play?" he asks. "It was tonight's original plan, after all."

"How romantic," says Levi, which everyone apparently takes as an affirmative, because Jean eagerly removes a pie from a box and holds it up so Marco can scribble Levi's name on its underside. Levi cringes. "Wait."

"That looks like pecan," says Reiner. "You got allergies?"

"No, but—"

"I call pumpkin, then."

There's a pause, then a sudden, violent flurry of motion as everyone scrambles to claim a flavor. There's some cursing and elbowing. Connie gets smacked in the face. Eventually everyone but Sasha ends up with a pie, and Eren stands very still with his, so forlorn that Levi steps in front of him to try to figure out what's wrong.

"Where're the ones I brought? This is a chicken pot pie," says Eren hoarsely. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?"

"Ran out of fruits and nuts," says Connie.

"I'll give you a nut," says Reiner.

"I don't want a savory pie. That's fucking gross. At least the sweetness of normal pies mitigates some of the rubber taste. A chicken pot pie's gonna taste like roadkill."

"Eren, you're such a little pissbaby," Jean groans. "Trade with your boyfriend, then."

"Fuck that," says Levi, holding his pie out of reach and making everyone laugh. Eren starts to smile again.

"It's not like mine's gonna get run over anyway," he says, straightening a little with confidence. "Mine never gets run over."

"You're gonna eat those words, and they're gonna taste like chicken and asphalt," Jean promises.

The rules require four pies on the road at a time, staggered across the lanes. Reiner, Bert, Jean, and Marco are up first, and Bert frets about where to place his, inching it back and forth along the street. "It depends on if they swerve or not," he says, nervous. "Some people try to miss, but some just plow right on through now. We need to find another spot, Reiner. They've caught on; they're too jaded here."

Reiner laughs. "It's not a science, Bertl."

"Everything's a science," Bert says morosely, but he finally steps away from his pie just in time for headlights to flash in the distance on the Dauper side of the city limits.

The kids scatter off into the dark. Eren has his hand wrapped around Levi's, and he uses it to drag him further away from the road and behind an anemic little bush that conceals absolutely nothing. Levi's just about to point this out when Eren surges forward and kisses him hard, mouth closed. Nearly knocks Levi over from the force of it. Levi grunts and falls to one elbow, but Eren pursues him, little puffs of laughter escaping his lips and he plants smaller kisses along Levi's cheeks and jawline. He's like a fucking puppy. Levi pushes him off, trying not to grin.

"Have some dignity."

"Can't," says Eren. "You can't have dignity if you play the pie game." He seizes Levi's face between his hands and kisses him more seriously, long and slow and lingering. When they separate again, his green eyes are somber. "I didn't mean for anyone to find us here," he says.

"I know you didn't."

"I know you want to keep this quiet. We—"

Headlights wash over them. Levi ducks instinctually, feels Eren do the same. They cling to each other as the car drives by. A second later, they hear the unmistakable _crunch_ of cake boxes and aluminum, and Levi holds his breath, embarrassingly invested. The car seems to take a long time to pass. When its engine has finally faded in the distance, Eren's friends regather around the detritus with solemn eyes and plastic forks. It's ritualistic.

"Sorry, Bert. Sorry, Jean," says Sasha finally, sounding distinctly un-sorry.

Bert whines, and Jean swears. Levi leans over to examine the pies: they look horrific. They have clear tire treads on them, and they're speckled with little bits of gravel. He must have some sort of look on his face, because Mikasa says, without inflection, "They can pick out the rocks and stuff. We're not monsters."

"Says the woman who has never lost," Jean grumbles. He grabs one of the forks, snatches his pie off the ground, and shovels a bite into his mouth. "I hate my life."

"Aw, Bert. Honey," Reiner soothes, trying not to laugh as his husband sadly scoops up a crushed bite of crust.

"Every time," Bert says.

Reiner takes the fork from him and feeds him tenderly, as if exchanging bites of cake at a wedding. There's something supremely fucked up and hilarious about it, and Levi can't help but laugh. It's just his brand of humor. Eren watches him, delighted, as Ymir, Historia, Connie, and Annie arrange their pies on the road, and Levi catches himself and clears his throat just a bit too late: Eren's staring at him again, in _that way_ , like he's something shiny in the sky. It makes him feel precious and interrupted at the same time. He bites his lip, self-conscious, and is about to tell Eren to fuck off or something when a stream of cars appears on the horizon, and the kids shriek and disperse again.

This time he and Eren end up behind a slightly more substantial bush, and Levi pounces first, shoving Eren into the dirt and kissing him with bruising force. Eren groans into his mouth, hands on Levi's waist. Levi tangles his fingers in Eren's hair and tugs backwards to bare his delicious throat, the handsome shelf of his jaw. He sucks there gently, not hard enough to leave a mark. The kid doesn't even have stubble yet. Levi runs his tongue down the smooth, clean skin, loosening the stupid singing fish tie as he goes.

"Your friends are okay," he says, when his mouth is hot on the crest of Eren's collarbone.

Eren's pupils are blown. He pants, struggling to follow that course of discussion as Levi kisses the base of his throat. "Uh—yeah. Yeah, they are. Levi, Jesus—"

"Think they'll be quiet? I don't want people to know about me."

"They're cool!" Eren gasps. "They're fine, yeah!"

Levi smiles. The tie's loose enough now that he can peel back a bit of Eren's collar and kiss the front of his shoulder, where the skin is tender, untouched. Eren twitches and groans. Cars rush by on the road, trailing a soft, cold wind that lifts Levi's hair up and back. Even distracted as he is, Eren grips Levi's coat and pulls it more securely around him until the breeze dies down. The tenderness of it makes Levi sit back, a little shaken.

"Levi?" asks Eren, voice husky. He straightens, cupping one hand to Levi's cheek. "You okay?"

"I mean it," says Levi. "Your friends can't tell anyone who or where I am."

"They won't. I'll talk to them," says Eren. The full measure of Eren's focus is hot, spotlight-like. "We've kept some pretty gnarly secrets for each other throughout the years. You can trust these guys, I swear."

"Thank you," Levi whispers.

Eren nods. The tips of his fingers stroke aside Levi's bangs, pausing on his temple. "You're in some serious trouble, aren't you?" he says after a long moment.

"Not yet," says Levi, and lets it hang there; the implication that he _could_ be.

"Tell me how to protect you," Eren pleads. "I'll do anything."

Levi shakes his head, not even sure how to tackle the impossibility of that task, the futility. He's opening his mouth to laugh it off when Reiner hails them back to the road with a hearty, "You're up, kiddos!"

"Pretty sure I'm at least ten years older than him," Levi says, climbing off Eren. He helps him up out of the dust and walks hand-in-hand with him back to the road, where Ymir is eating her pie with the sourest expression Levi has ever seen. Connie and Historia, by contrast, are cheerfully forking crumbly bites into their mouths.

"High casualty match," reports Historia. "Two pies, one tire. So thrilling I'm not even mad."

"And what are you smiling for?" Levi asks Connie.

"I just really like pie, man," says Connie.

Without a change of expression, Annie flashes a peace sign.

"Okay, last round," says Reiner.

Levi obligingly fetches his pie. Fuck, he's really doing this. He'd feel absolutely ridiculous if Eren weren't standing beside him with a comically contemplative expression, nudging his pot pie around, reconsidering, and repositioning it over and over. Levi just plunks his down and decides that'll do. Mikasa does the same, with slightly more grace. Armin thinks carefully before placing his a few inches outside of the dotted line, and he's just straightening again when they hear a car—distant, but moving very fast.

In the commotion that follows, Levi misses Eren's hand and ends up on the other side of the road behind a large, leafless tree. He crouches down. A second later, Armin joins him, his pink comforter billowing up as he kneels beside Levi. Levi swallows, staring carefully ahead. Armin smells fresh and blue and baby-clean. The last thing in the world he wants to do is make eye contact—

—but avoiding it turns out to be impossible when Armin drapes part of his blanket over Levi's shoulders, drawing them closer together.

"You looked cold," Armin explains.

Levi swallows, turning to meet his gaze. Armin stares back. This close, Levi can tell he's on something—there's no mistaking the soft, medicated look in his eyes; Levi's seen enough people doped up or rolling or up or down to know what a misapplied drug looks like in someone's system. But a doctor has clearly been working on Armin's dosage. He seems much more lucid now, and this improved clarity would be a blessing if Levi didn't know that Armin was capable of an even more incredible vibrancy. 

God, no wonder Kenny's obsessed with him. Armin's a pedophile's wet dream. To have taken that innocence—a sick man would never forget getting a taste of him, and it makes Levi want to grovel for forgiveness at Armin's feet. Worst part is? The kid would probably accept his apology.

Levi doesn't want to be forgiven. He wants to be punished. He thinks, not for the first time, that he would sell what's left of his soul to give Armin and Eren back what he and Kenny stole from them that day. But it’s too late for apologies. Instead, Levi stares at the ground, the soft scent of Armin nestled cozy and heavy over his cold shoulders. "Thanks," he says softly, clutching the blanket closer.

Armin's hair sways as he nods. He squints. "Mikasa is right. You seem familiar."

"I saw you outside the diner once," Levi says.

He doesn't expect Armin to remember him, as brief and tumultuous as that encounter had been, but Armin says, "Oh, that Thursday? That's right. I was kind of out of it, but I remember you. You were wearing a hoodie and a gray coat."

His acuity is unnerving. "Yeah."

"Eren didn't have a chance to introduce you before you left, but I figured you two were together," says Armin. He glances over Levi without judgement. His smile grows reflective. "You're really attractive, Levi."

"I'm not," says Levi, and heartily means it. "I'm not like you."

Armin shakes his head in protest, but before they can get into a game of 'no, you,' the car roars by on the road. Levi and Armin duck against each other for warmth against the rush of wind. There, pressed arm-to-arm against Armin Arlert, Levi has never felt older or uglier or filthier. Guilt and grief flood through him in a tremendous wave. He starts to stand, but Armin catches one of his sleeves, blinking up at him with bright blue eyes.

"Eren seems very happy with you," he says softly. "I'm so glad you two found each other."

"Thank you," Levi manages. "I—I am too."

He straightens, stepping free of Armin's blanket, then turns around to wrap it back around the boy's tiny frame before striding to the street. He's exhausted. He just wants to find Eren and go home. He's forgotten what they're even doing there until he nearly steps on his pie, glistening and intact in the center of the road, bookended neatly by two others.

 _Two_ others. Levi begins looking around. That means—

" _Noooooo!_ " Eren howls.

He's on his knees a little further down the road, hands stretching imploringly toward his upside-down pot pie. Gingerly, he flips it. Vegetables and chunks of chicken tumble out of it like viscera. Eren wails again, all long and throaty, and presses his forehead to the ground as the others gather around him. Most of them wear expressions of grim sympathy. Jean is cackling so hard he can't speak.

"Tough break, Jaeger," Reiner says, passing him a plastic fork.

Eren slowly sits up, his face full of sorrow, but his friends are unmovable. He glances at Levi for help.

"The masses have spoken," says Levi. He's struggling not to laugh.

"I thought you loved me," Eren says. It's a blatant admission as to the depth of their relationship, but everyone's polite enough to ignore it, and Eren moans and scoops up his first bite of asphalt pot pie.

Levi's not a sadist—he'll leave that shit to Kenny—but there's something unbelievably funny about watching his boyfriend consume annihilated pastry and chicken from a crushed aluminum pan. He grins wickedly as Eren finishes what he can, eating sullenly around the gravel, and by the time he's finished, Levi feels like he's actually bonded with the lot of them in the way of people who'd just collectively escaped a great misfortune. Eren's glaring daggers at him, but he'll just have to get over it, won't he? Reiner and Marco stack the pies back into the bags and pass them off to Sasha, who looks delighted.

"Thanks for the next two days' worth of meals," she says.

"There are like eight pies in there," says Levi.

Sasha winks at him. "Just one day, then."

It's late. Eren's friends disperse, offering Levi warm, gracious farewells. _Don't be a stranger, now_ , Reiner says, while Jean settles with, _Nice to meet you. Sorry about your boyfriend_. Then they're gone too soon, split between three cars, and Levi finds himself staring after the one that holds Armin in it. _I'm so glad you two found each other_ , he had said. An endorsement from Eren's beautiful, broken ex. Levi stands at the side of the road for a long time before Eren gently touches his shoulder, keeping his fingers light, so as not to startle him.

"Ready to head back?"

"Yeah," says Levi.

The two of them walk back to Eren's Buick together, get in, and sit down. Eren's stomach makes a groaning noise, and he grimaces with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"That's what you get for eating a chicken pot pie off of the ground," says Levi.

"Not like I had much of a choice now, did I?"

"You always have a choice."

"Not with the pie game, you don't. Not after we made Armin eat one out of a snowbank once when he had bronchitis."

"You guys don't fuck around," says Levi, but melancholy stains him at the mention of Armin; the way Eren's voice brightens when he says it. Levi stares straight ahead when he asks, "You and Armin dated, didn't you?"

Eren goes very, very still. Levi watches him sidelong as his eyes grow distant, then haunted. His hand, poised to turn the key, goes lax, and he lets it drop back into his lap.

This is it: he's going to talk about the day of the break-in. It was so instrumental in ruining what he had with Armin that of course it'd come up now. Maybe Levi even knew that when he asked. Maybe he's so tired of dancing around the subject that he has to know how Eren feels about what happened; has to hear it from Eren's side, guns and masks and assault and all. Levi sits there in the passenger seat and thinks that this is where it all ends: he can't be with Eren after he learns how much he destroyed in him. But Eren has a right to tell this story.

"Levi," says Eren, with difficulty. "I—Armin and I—"

Levi waits.

"Armin and I are no longer together," Eren says at last. "You and I are. That's what matters."

It's not what Levi expected. It's too definitive, and it comes back to him, of all people; the world's poorest rebound from gorgeous little Armin Arlert. Levi looks up at Eren then, uncertain, and Eren catches him in a kiss that halts his breath. When they pull apart, he's smiling.

"I'm with you now, Levi," he says. "It wasn't a smooth path, and too many things happened that shouldn't have happened, but I ended up here, and I can appreciate that now that I see you're here, too."

"How can you believe that?" Levi demands.

"Believe what?"

"That I'm any sort of—prize at the finish line. How can you think that?"

"Easy," says Eren, laughing. "Because you're the _starting_ line."

Tears sting Levi's eyes. He closes them. It's just a metaphor, Levi knows, but the implications of what Eren is saying—as if they have a whole future ahead of them. House. New bedsheets. Flowerbeds, two cats, tea in the morning and some monogrammed towels. Levi wants that desperately. He wants a _life_ with Eren; not this sneaking around, this constant fear of Kenny. There's a way to get it, too. But it's so fucking selfish.

"Run away with me," Levi whispers.

Eren's hands pause on Levi's forearms. "What?"

Levi shakes his head. He's not going to ask again, not aloud, and he knows that Eren heard him. He leans over into Eren's arms and hugs him around the waist, squeezing hard. "Forget it."

"It's just—my friends," Eren says haltingly. "My father, my job—school—"

"I said forget it."

He presses his face against Eren's chest, listening to his heartbeat, his erratic breathing. It takes a while for it to even out. Eren begins slowly stroking his hair. Levi doesn't know how long they sit there like that, how many cars from Dauper pass them by, but the cabin grows cold, and Eren eventually has to disengage so he can turn on the engine and get some heat going. He rubs Levi's hands between his own and blows on them to warm them up. Then he pulls off of the dirt shoulder, makes a u-turn, and begins driving back to Ehrmich.

"When I turn eighteen," he says quietly, barely audible over the purr of the heater, "I'll run away with you."

Levi's head snaps up. "Eren—?"

Eren grins, still watching the road. "My birthday's at the end of March."

It's October now. Levi shuts his eyes and clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, but he's still unable to suppress the smile that spreads across his face. Five months. Five months and Eren will be his, and they'll escape this shithole town, and Levi will shake Kenny Ackerman for good.

Kissing Eren in thanks is achingly insufficient. Instead, Levi takes his arm and rests his head against his bicep, grinning madly, already dreaming of a warmer spring.


End file.
